


Death of a Planet

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Tyler and Josh smoke pot under the bleachers of a local high school and talk about their problems. (They have a lot of problems.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of a Planet

**Author's Note:**

> translation into русский available: [death of a planet](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5170109) by [gronery ](https://ficbook.net/authors/1005167)

Josh likes smoke, especially the smell of it. It doesn't have to be anything particular, though he enjoys inhaling bonfires and marijuana the most. This burns his lungs and the lining of his esophagus. He remembers getting burned with a cigarette when he was younger. Despite staying out in the sun all day that summer, the small white ring always clung to his forearm as a grim reminder of upsetting his sister. It was an accident, she said, but Josh can't shake off the look of malice on her face as she dug the cigarette into his skin and held it there for four seconds. Josh never picks up a cigarette again.

He was never one to smoke cigarettes in the first place, only sucking on them when he wanted something to suck and had nothing else around. There is a pile of lollipops on his desk, the wrappers pushing over the edge of the trash can. Strawberry, grape, blueberry, Josh's mouth is many colors, but the scar on his forearm is always white.

There are other smells Josh enjoys: rain, gasoline, grass, lavender, body odor—if it's from the right person. Pheromones or some shit, Josh eats it up. He buries his nose into hair, into necks, and runs his fingers down slick backs and tongues at the sweat pouring down temples, from armpits. Josh doesn't like the taste as much as the smell, but in the moment, Josh needs to be closer, needs to take it all in. He had an old girlfriend call him weird for wanting her to skip out on deodorant one day. He had an old boyfriend who welcomed Josh's nose, even encouraged it; he held Josh's head in place as Josh gagged on his cock and suffocated in his pubes.

It isn't just body odor. It's blood, too. Any sort of bodily fluids Josh likes. It's human, it's natural. His girlfriends would squirm and wear layers when they were approaching that time of their cycle. They would worry about someone smelling it. Josh never smelled blood. No one actually smells blood. Josh spent the night with a boy who refused to invite Josh back to his place because he was menstruating. Josh didn't care. Josh doesn't care. They fucked that night, and Josh woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth and wanting more.

Piss, however—Josh has a lesser tolerance for it. He isn't shy when it comes to peeing in front of his partner. He's pissed the bed before, and the girl he was with loved it, told him to aim it at her face next time. There is never a next time.

Josh read somewhere that smoke is supposed to leave the body when it dies. Thin, red, the brain lets it out through the mouth, the nose, sometimes the ears. The quickest way out for this smoke to leave would be from the head; a cracked skull is perfect. Josh doesn't think this red smoke is real. He needs to see it, needs to breathe in deeply and savor it. Is the smoke someone's soul? The last thing Josh wants is to be responsible for two souls.

Tonight, and like any other night, Josh spends it at a high school, not because he goes here—oh, no, he's finished with that hellhole—but because it's an ideal location. He's tried loitering in old shopping centers and underneath train tracks and bridges, but he's shooed away after his second or third visit. No one bothers him when he's at a high school. He sits below the bleachers at the football stadium, legs to his chest, and smokes in silence. Sometimes a neighborhood cat rolls by, which Josh names. He always names them. Jim is with him tonight, orange tail curled and a purr rumbling in her chest. Josh pets her and gives her leftover chicken. She eats it and wraps herself around his shins.

Mostly he occupies this space every Friday, after the game is over. He likes it better when it's football season. The smell of cigarette smoke lingers, tinged with nachos and hot dog sauce. There's trash everywhere, the clean-up crew showing up on Saturday. If Josh is busy on Friday, he sits here on Saturdays. It isn't nearly as enjoyable, but Jim is often here on Saturdays. Don't tell anyone; Jim is Josh's favorite.

It's Saturday tonight, Josh's backpack stuffed with a flashlight, a blanket, three-day-old pepperoni pizza, and two water bottles—one for him, and one for Jim. Josh is already a little high, the start of a joint between his index and middle fingers. It's burning lightly, giving off the faintest fragrance, setting the mood for the night.

Josh typically stays until three or four in the morning, arriving around eleven or midnight. He's a bit late tonight; it's closer to midnight than it is eleven, so he supposes it's fair to assume someone else would claim this spot as their own. Is this their first time here? No, it must be frequent. They have a blanket, too, like Josh has in his backpack. Josh chalks this up to him showing up irregularly on Saturdays. The person here might have their set day as Saturday, and since Josh is normally here earlier than it is now, they might have seen Josh and decided to leave to find a new smoke spot. Or this is actually their first time here, and they came prepared. Josh suffered many nights with a sore ass before his senses caught up to him.

It already smells of skunk here, under the bleachers. It smells cold, too, that freezing feeling of getting ice caught in the nostrils. Josh finds it hard to breathe, but he sucks on his joint some more and forgets about it.

The person keeps to themself, head bent low. Their hood is pulled up and concealing their face. Josh wants to say hi. He doesn't say hi.

Jim is here within minutes, trotting over and meowing as if something is on fire behind her. Josh gives her ears a quick scratch before he unzips his bag and spreads out his blanket. Thick, heavy, his mom gave him this blanket the Christmas he moved out of the house. She said it was for emergencies, in case his new apartment ever failed him. Would she be disappointed to find it reeking of the outdoors and cat piss and drugs? Josh is a terrible son.

Jim paces, the tip of her tail twitching. Josh sits down and gets out the pizza. In a Tupperware container and wrapped in aluminum foil, Josh heated it before he came. It's still warm. As he peels off the pepperonis, his fingertips scream and plead for him to stop. Jim wants more. Her paw rests on Josh's foot. Josh sets the pepperoni on a piece of foil he's ripped off, for a plate. Jim appreciates it, Josh can tell. He takes out the water next, filling the Tupperware container with it. Jim laps it up.

Josh does all this efficiently, mindful of the ashes falling from his joint. Jim has to breathe in the shit; she doesn't need to ingest it any more than that.

From across him, the person begins to rouse, raising their head and sticking a leg underneath them. Josh can see red socks and tattoos on their wrist. "Do you want a slice?" Josh asks, the first words said by a human this night.

"Willing to give it up?" Their voice is sleepy, a bit high for their own good. They shove the hood from their head and wipe their nose with the back of their hand in the same motion.

"Yeah, man."

Josh is in better light. His new friend stands and pulls over their blanket, their backpack trailing not far behind. Josh sees dark skin, week-old stubble on the jaw, chewed-on lips, and bags under warm eyes. It's out before Josh can stop himself. "Dude, you're fucking beautiful."

They're both laughing, Josh nervous, the newcomer surprised. "Really? Thanks… Pizza?"

"Sorry. Here you go."

Jim butts her forehead against Josh's knee, a nonverbal request for more pepperoni. Josh tears off more and places them on the foil. Jim chews, purring.

"My name's Josh," Josh says, "and this is Jim."

"I'm Tyler." Tyler smiles, picking apart his pizza and sharing the pepperoni with Jim. "She was here a bit before you came, like she was expecting something, but I didn't have anything to give her."

Josh shrugs. "I feed her whenever I'm here. I feed the others, too, but she's usually the one who sticks around. Like… I think she has this secret family, yeah? And she comes to me to get a little something on the side."

"So you're the side chick?"

"And now you're the second side chick. Congrats."

"Congrats." Tyler shakes his head, his laugh caught in his throat. He alternates between taking bites of the pizza and drags from his joint. The paper is colored pink, Josh thinks. It may taste like watermelon. "Do you come here often?" Tyler asks, a sorry excuse for a pick-up line or a poorly worded inquiry. Either way, Josh blushes and accidentally chomps down on his thumb.

"Usually Fridays. If not then, then today. I was exhausted."

Tyler hums, nibbling at the crust of his pizza slice. "First time here, myself. I got ran off from the mall."

"I could've told you that. That used to be one of my hangouts."

"How long have you been here?"

Josh shrugs. "A month, maybe longer. Haven't been caught." He's finished with his pizza, licking off the grease and returning his attention to his joint. Jim is cleaning her paws. "Are you thinking about making this your regular spot?"

Tyler swallows what's in his mouth, his cheeks plump and now hollow as he sucks on a finger. "Will you be here?" Tyler is timid when he asks this, meeting Josh's eye with a look through his lashes. His head is down, fiddling with a thread on his red socks. Josh had thought he was wearing old skinny jeans, but Tyler is actually wearing sweatpants, the cuff tight around the ankle. He looks comfortable.

"Until I get kicked out," Josh says, bringing the stick to his mouth. He exhales out the corner of his lips, away from Tyler and Jim.

Tyler smiles. "Maybe. No promises."

*

As a kid, Josh believed in pinky promises. Hell, he still lives for that shit. He split open his palm with his grandfather's pocketknife and held hands with the boy who lived next door. "Together forever," he said, and now Josh is alone and has no knowledge of who the boy was and where the boy moved. Josh doesn't even know his name. That boy stole Josh's first kiss with stitches from a fall and hands dirty with potting soil.

Josh thinks that's why he loses his virginity in a garden. He was stretched on his back, along the ferns and sunflowers as the man above him took and took and never gave anything in return. "Touch me, please," Josh said, dandelions in his hair, but he's turned onto his stomach and introduced to the grass in an intimate fashion, his teeth burrowed in with the worms and critters. He remembers screaming, but he doesn't remember what it sounded like.

Tyler is disturbed at Josh's story. It shows on his face, in his eyes, but he is quiet on the matter. "Tell me more."

They're smoking the same joint. Rings leave Tyler's chapped lips, reminding Josh of car tires. He speaks of having sex in the bed of a pickup truck now. The radio was turned on, but it wasn't turned up for Josh to know the words. He fucked a girl there and ate his semen as it dripped out her and lay on her thigh. Tyler hums appreciatively during this tale, his eyes closed and his face turned toward the streetlamp attached to the wire fence. Josh has a story for a wire fence. He's beat into one by the man who took him in the garden. Three of Josh's ribs broke, and he kissed metal and tasted stitches. "Like your first kiss," Tyler comments.

"Like my first kiss."

The man took Josh there again, hard, fast. He tore out Josh's hair and threatened his life. Josh doesn't tell Tyler this part of the story. He ends it with the metal knocking into his gums, no mention of the man and his hand around Josh's throat and his voice so soothing and protective and always there, never leave, don't tell, don't tell, I'll fucking kill you, I'll break out of here and kill you. There is a happy ending. It comes in the form of a broomstick from an angel rattling the brain and cracking the skull. Josh wonders if there was smoke.

*

Tyler makes music. It makes Josh sick. He vomits the first time he hears Tyler sing. Tyler sits on his blanket, his hands unmoving on his ukulele as Josh rinses his mouth with water from his bag. Jim sits idly by, her ears twitching, wanting to see what escaped from her feeder.

"What can I do?" Tyler is scared. They've inhabited the space below the bleachers long enough to pass their joints to each other, for them to press their blankets together, for them to talk about more than the weather, but it isn't enough for Tyler to know what to do when Josh is giving the earth his innards.

Josh rolls, rolls until he's on his back and able to watch the night sky roll around them. "Play another song."

Tyler sings a lullaby. Josh cries.

*

After their second encounter, Tyler writes his phone number on Josh's wrist. They're about to leave, it's about to turn four in the morning, and Josh is packing up his blanket. He shakes out the bugs and listens to Tyler stammer.

"I, I, so I, I wondered, I, well, Josh, I…" Tyler gives up. He has a pen in his hand in minutes, and without thinking, Josh provides his wrist. Tyler scribbles his phone number, careful, and says how it sucks he doesn't have an _i_ in his name. "So I can, you know, draw a smiley face for the dot." Tyler sniffs. "Or a heart."

They text each other ideas for plans, but they fall through. They are only stagnant on the weekends, where Tyler sends, _friday?_ and Josh sends, _Friday_ , or Tyler sends, _how about saturday?_ and Josh sends, _I can't, I'm so sorry._

It's hard to get out of bed those days. He texts Tyler, but Tyler doesn't text back.

*

Tyler makes fast friends with Jim and the other cats. Josh points at each one and tells their names. Tyler makes a note on his phone.

"The gray one is Spooks. The white one is Casper. The one with almost no hair is Steve. And you know Jim."

"Can I name the next one?"

The next cat is pure black with amber eyes. Tyler is about to sit on her when she utters the highest-pitched meow Josh has ever heard. Tyler names her Johnny Boy, and he wants to take her home. "Can't, though," he says. "I already have Ruby."

Tyler likes to play his ukulele as they smoke. During this time, he tries to rhyme every time he talks. Although it's hard and wears Tyler out, Josh is happy because of it, and Tyler wants Josh happy.

"Why?" Josh asks him.

"Because I like you, and I hate seeing you so blue."

Josh leans against Tyler. He smells like juice boxes and body odor. Despite the Pavilion response, Josh closes his eyes.

*

While Josh walks the distance from his apartment to the high school, Tyler drives. "Lemme drive you home," Tyler says one Friday. "It's getting colder. I don't want you to freeze." Tyler doesn't look at Josh. He kicks at an empty paper cup.

Tyler never changes his outfit. Every weekend, he wears those sweatpants and red socks. His shoes change from time to time, as does his hoodie. Tonight his hoodie is black, a white t-shirt pulled on top of it for nothing more than aesthetic reasons. "Please let me drive you home."

Josh obliges, climbing into the passenger seat of Tyler's car, his bag resting at his feet. Covered with old towels, the seats are leather. An apple cinnamon air freshener hangs from the rear-view mirror, faded and stale. At a red light, Josh leans in and touches the tip of his nose to the air freshener. If he inhales deeply, and holds it in, he can smell the apple cinnamon as though it were brand new.

Tyler drives with one hand. He leans an elbow on the armrest or the window. His elbow is on the armrest as he watches Josh sniff the air freshener. A cross necklace hangs from the rear-view mirror, too, knocking against Josh's nose ring upon returning to his seat. "Does that still smell?" Tyler turns the heat up a bit. "I've gotten used to it."

"It still smells."

Tyler hums.

Walking home was never a bother for Josh, since the travel time peaked at fifteen minutes. It cleared his head, and he got an early start on his smoking. His feet would carry him at an even pace. And sometimes he would run. When he runs, his lungs ache, and he makes it to the bleachers in less than five minutes. He's here before Tyler on those days.

The drive to his apartment is too short for Josh's liking. He doesn't notice they're parked out front until Tyler's hand touches his, a warm palm to the back of his hand. "All right?"

Josh nods. "Text me when you get home, okay?"

"I need to stop at an ATM, but yeah, I'll text you, Josh." Tyler's thumb works circles into Josh's skin. "Don't worry."

Tyler keeps his word. Instead of a text, he sends a selfie from his bed. Crumpled sheets, a striped pillow behind his head, Tyler is shirtless and wearing the plainest expression ever. Josh's heart beats fast. It hurts. Josh never wants it to stop hurting.

 _You look so good_ , he sends, and Tyler replies with a _thank you_ before they both agree to go to sleep.

*

Tyler's blanket is as thick as Josh's, if not thicker. It's black plaid, fuzzy, and longer than Josh's. Tyler can lie on his stomach and still have several inches left. They spread out their blankets and lay on their sides, on their stomachs, on their backs, on each other. Jim is there, sometimes Johnny Boy.

Josh has a McDonald's bag in his hand, Johnny Boy and Jim at his feet. Tyler is sitting on his blanket, leaning on a rail, a pillow in his lap. He's wearing the same outfit as the weekend before—sweatpants, t-shirt over a hoodie, those red socks. Nothing looks washed. Josh wants to do his laundry. "Got us some burgers and fries," Josh says, setting the bag on the ground for the cats to check out. "Well, it's more for them. I think this might be Johnny Boy's one good meal a week."

Tyler stares at Josh, but his eyes aren't here. They're not warm; they're caught in a storm, in a migraine. Tyler's cheek is bruised, his bottom lip swollen. Josh spreads out his blanket and passes over some Tylenol and a water bottle. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I fell." Tyler tosses back two pills.

Josh gets out the fries, placing them atop the pillow in Tyler's lap. He turns to their friends, unwrapping a cheeseburger and ripping apart the patty. Johnny Boy chows down first, Jim content with waiting. "Were you climbing?"

Tyler shoves fries into his mouth. "Yes. I don't want to talk about it, Josh."

Josh gets out the second cheeseburger. "Do you want half of this?"

"Yes."

Jim purrs while she eats. Johnny Boy licks her shoulder.

Tyler is out of it. The presence of the pillow throws him off. He keeps clinging to it, mindlessly chewing on a fry or eating a pickle Josh gives him. When he says he doesn't want to talk about it, he really means he doesn't want to talk at all. Josh tries to start a conversation, but Tyler shakes his head, his eyebrows knitted together, and Josh understands.

They don't light any joints. They sit beside each other, on Tyler's blanket, Tyler holding his pillow and Josh watching the cats play with a leaf. Among their chortles and cheers, Tyler begins to talk about it. But it isn't what Josh expects. Tyler isn't talking about climbing or falling; he's talking about the bite of a razor along his underarms, the inside of his thighs, close to his cock, close to places a razor should never touch. "I threw it away immediately," Tyler says, "not because of hygiene reasons, but because of the memories it carried with it." Tyler was a teenager, forced to regress for one of his mom's friends. Razor burn is one of the worst experiences of Tyler's life, right at the top with choking on fingers that aren't his. "My mom pretends it never happened. She took me to church. God fixed me." Tyler shakes. "God fixed me."

Josh hugs Tyler, his arms a loop around his hips. The sweatpants are bunched here, rolled down to fit more comfortably. Tyler's skin is warm. He smells like salt, like tears, like the ocean. "Tell me more," Josh says.

"The day God fixed me, I brought a boy to the back of the church. He kissed me, and I felt alive. He touched me, and I wept. He fucked me, and I praised God until my voice turned hoarse." Tyler is in Josh's neck, whispering, sharing. The pillow is on his lap, the striped case a nuisance, a convenience. Josh presses his palm to it. Tyler pushes it away. "It's embarrassing," Tyler says.

Josh closes his eyes. "No, it isn't." Then, "Tell me more."

Tyler tells Josh more. There are girls with sharp fingernails and boys who had a thing for not breathing. Tyler's skin would be red, would be blue, and he would be on his knees the next day begging for more. He's been fucked in a greenhouse, and taken a girl to the same greenhouse to fuck her. Spit called his face home; semen, blood, and piss were close friends. "I was forced to keep my mouth open," Tyler mumbles, "and I could taste their genes on my tongue."

Tyler doesn't stop Josh from touching the pillow this time. He's the one to move the pillow to Josh's blanket. He's the one to repeat, "It's embarrassing," to stretch out his legs, to spread his legs.

"It's not embarrassing."

Tyler kisses Josh, his hands hot on Josh's neck. Tyler tastes like salt, like tears, like the ocean.

It is not short. It goes on forever. Whimpers leave Tyler's lips—more than whimpers, more than squeals, more than Josh. Tyler's mouth is bleeding. Josh sucks on Tyler's bottom lip, on the bust, on the sore, and he doesn't let go. Running, sprinting, a migraine is behind Tyler's eyelids. His breath comes in rapid succession—running, sprinting, a migraine a minute. All Tyler needs is Josh's mouth, a handful of bad thoughts, and the freedom of spreading his legs with no worries of violence taking over.

Tyler comes with Josh's name on his lips. He's pink in the face, a bead of sweat on his temple. "Will this be one of your stories?" Tyler stares at Josh, eyes darting from Josh's eyes to his nose to his mouth, back to his eyes. "How will you tell it?"

"I met this guy under the bleachers of the local high school. We smoked pot with the neighborhood cats, and he sang and sang. Our first kiss ended with him climaxing in his pants. I think he's the best person in the world."

Tyler's teeth are crooked and white.

*

"Lemme drive you home," Tyler says, his backpack slung over a shoulder, his pillow to his chest, and standing with his legs subtly apart. It isn't a wide stance, but Josh was here to witness what happened. It isn't even two in the morning. They're leaving early, and rightfully so. Tyler needs to shower.

"I can walk," Josh says.

Tyler chews on the inside of his cheek. "Come home with me."

Josh does.

Tyler drives with a hand on the wheel, at the nine o'clock position, his other hand curling and uncurling against his thigh. No matter the constant reassurance from Josh, Tyler's cheeks are still pink from embarrassment and faint arousal. His lips part, shut, open, close. Words form in that head of his, being twisted into connotations that mean nothing and everything. Would Josh's voice help this? Would it balance the equation in Tyler's mind? Josh says, "You're thinking too much," and Tyler says, "Help me," and Josh takes Tyler's hand, squeezing his curling fingers.

Tyler's apartment is not far from Josh's, a four-minute addition. The building is much like Josh's, brick, tidy, flowers on every front porch, and a garage on every left side. "My place was the go-to in the summer for my friends. We would smoke in my garage. They all moved away."

Tyler doesn't park in the garage. He pulls up to the garage door, but it doesn't open. He stops the car. "I can't smoke in my apartment," says Josh. "I never tried. Scared I'll get evicted. Did your landlord not care?"

Tyler shakes his head, shrugging, mixed signals. They get out of the car, packs on their backs, a pillow under Tyler's arm. He struggles to unlock the door and refuses to meet Josh's eye. "Make yourself comfortable," he says, the door finally opening. Josh expects it to smell like skunk. He expects his eyes to burn, his throat to constrict. There is no burning, there is no constricting, there is fruit, there is wildlife, there is mint. "I'm sorry if… it smells. There's no other place for the litter box to go." In the corner, hidden behind the front door, is a litter box, sitting on newspaper sitting on cardboard. A top is on the box, the opening wider than is necessary for a typical house cat. "I thought the cover would keep the smell down."

"I don't smell anything."

Tyler sighs, rubbing his fingers through his hair. "She's around here. Somewhere. Ruby. She's sweet, really. Just shy when it comes to new people." Tyler drops his backpack next to the sofa, the pillow on the arm of the sofa. It's secondhand, the cushions worn and squishy. Josh imagines sitting and not getting up for several hours.

The rest of the living room is as neat as the outside, patched with furniture that has seen different hands. There is a toy piano resting on a coffee table and a Nintendo 64 on the floor beneath it. Games and DVDs line the bookshelf, but it's very disorganized. Some are pushed to the carpet. Tyler is in the middle of sorting them.

"Do you have anything I can give her?"

"What?"

Tyler is pulling off his hoodie. A cut-off shirt lingers, sticking to his skin in some places. "Ruby. She likes taking things and sleeping with them. She might warm up to you more if I gave her something."

"Like what? My blanket?"

"No, something small."

"A sock?"

"You need your socks, man."

Tyler drops his hoodie on the back of a recliner. He kicks off his shoes. Josh reaches up to peel the beanie from his head. Some of the stitching is off, and the logo is completely gone, but he always wears the thing and should be okay for an animal to smell. "This?"

He holds it out for Tyler to take. Tyler takes it after a minute of staring at Josh. "Your hair is pink."

Josh has never shared his hair with Tyler. It is kept under beanies, allowing the odd strand here and there to peek. These strands are black, his roots taking over. Tyler is mesmerized, like he's about to fall to his knees. Tyler doesn't fall to his knees. He takes Josh's beanie and repeats, "Make yourself comfortable." Tyler leaves the room, his shirt not sticking to him anymore.

Josh doesn't want to sit on the couch, but he sits on the couch. Tyler is standing in the doorway now, Josh's beanie gone, his sweatpants gone. His shirt is long enough to hide traces of his boxer briefs. "Do me a favor?" he asks.

"What is it?"

"You can say no."

"What is it?" Josh gets up. It's hard.

Tyler is bashful, overthinking again. He's staring at his hands. "Pop my pimples for me?"

Towels pile behind the door, bunching, to cushion the bounce against the wall. They have a purpose, but Josh is not sure if the purpose is intentional. Tyler sits on the toilet as Josh washes his hands, scrubs under his nails. Josh is careful when it comes to Tyler's cheek and the whiteheads gathered under and around a nostril, even more careful for the ones on Tyler's chin. Some of these pimples expel blood once the bad stuff leaves. Tyler's eyes are wet by the end of it. "You okay?" Josh runs his thumb along the bruise on Tyler's cheek.

"I didn't mean to fall."

Josh welcomes Tyler's lunge. Tyler clings to Josh, his fingers like claws as they hold on to his jacket. This hug is the longest hug ever. Josh can never tire of hugging Tyler.

They part. Tyler showers. He doesn't shut the door. Josh stands in the living room. "Can I do your laundry?"

"If you want to."

"I do."

"There's a basket in my room. Last door on the right."

Tyler's room is cozy, warm, and dark. Josh gropes for the light switch, finding it six frightening seconds later. He sees a plume of black-and-white fur scurry from the room, Josh's beanie left behind next to a nest of old pillowcases, stuffing, t-shirts, and… socks, lots of socks. This nest is beside the nest Tyler calls his bed. Black plaid like the blanket he uses, the comforter is unmade and looks unmade for several days, a week at the most. The sheets are cold and white. Ruby doesn't lay on the bed, then. Tyler must have told her no one too many times.

Josh sees a notebook sticking out from a pillow. It's private, Josh can tell. He finds the basket and slides it out of the room. Full to the brim, a shirt sleeve dragging behind, Josh's own laundry is much the same. Tyler's room is a cave Josh explored when he was ten years old and didn't know the difference between a stalactite and a stalagmite. This cave is home to a person who is broken and missing and doesn't want to return to society. This cave is a home. This cave is a home.

With eight minutes left on the washer, Tyler emerges from his shower. Josh is by the washer and dryer, tucked behind shutter doors off the hallway. He's on his phone, ignoring Tyler as he wraps a towel around his hips and ducks into his bedroom to get dressed.

With an hour left on the dryer, Tyler emerges from his room. Soft pajamas clothe his thin frame. Josh recognizes the band on Tyler's shirt, though he doesn't say as much, only points and gives a thumbs up. Tyler smiles. "Thanks for… laundry."

Josh shakes his head. "Don't mention it." Tyler slowly nods, wanting to say something, but favoring his hands on Josh's shoulders and his mouth to Josh's mouth instead. This kiss is short, a little wet. It's meant as an expression of gratitude. Josh catches Tyler's elbow, keeps in contact when Tyler kisses him again, head tilted to the side, eyes fluttering close, lips parting. Josh tastes Tyler's tongue, hears Tyler's whimpers. Tyler pulls back, gingerly poking his bottom lip, still swollen from his fall. His cheek is blue and pink, no scabs or scrapes in sight. The acne is gone. Josh rubs his thumb into the crook of Tyler's elbow. "I think I might have seen Ruby?" Josh shrugs. "She ran pretty fast, so I couldn't get a good look at her."

Here come the telltale signs of a cat in a litter box, claws scraping and digging. Tyler holds up a finger— _wait here_. He disappears around the corner to return a minute later, a bundle of fur in his arms. "She's still a little scared," Tyler says, "so no sudden movements, okay?"

Josh knows cats. He lets the cats approach him, and sometimes coaxing is involved—and treats. Sometimes he does need to get on his knees and coo, "Here, kitty, kitty," but usually cats are putty in his hands. Josh knows cats, and he knows the animal in Tyler's arms is not a cat.

"Oh." Josh blinks. "Ruby is a skunk."

Ruby is a skunk. She stares at Josh with black eyes, her nostrils twitching as she sniffs. The look on her face is more curious than afraid, although this might be due to her finding out the owner of the beanie she had loved on not too long ago. For Josh, skunks are creatures he wouldn't run into every day. Seeing a skunk in a person's arms showing no protest is very disconcerting. Tyler pets her head, and her eyes shut in bliss. Josh blinks again.

"Is she…? Can you…? Dude." Josh laughs. "Tell me more."

Tyler rocks Ruby. "Got her when she was young. Obviously she's descented. I trim her claws every week, sometimes every two weeks if I'm having bad days. She's potty trained—that's why I have the litter box." He kisses an ear. "She loves me so much. She sleeps by me every night. I've had her for… maybe four years? My brother's a vet, so it's convenient. I don't think I would have gotten her if he wasn't… in the profession. He makes her food and keeps her healthy."

"Does she bite?"

"Only tiny nibbles. Out of love. Like a cat. Please don't tell anyone. They'll take her away and put her down to stop the spread of rabies."

"That's messed up." Josh bites his lip. "Can I pet her?"

"Slowly."

And Josh pets Ruby, and Ruby chirps, and Josh cries.

*

It's five in the morning when the laundry finishes. Josh says he can fold them, but Tyler says he doesn't need to do anymore tonight. And then, he glances at the clock above the television and says, "Well, morning."

Josh has been up for nearly twenty hours. He rubs his eyes, nestled in deep in the sofa, Tyler next to him folding his whites. He's humming something akin to a lullaby. Josh wonders how long he's been awake.

"I have an evening shift," he says, looking over at Josh. "I… realized a bit too late I should have asked if you had work today, and if it was a morning shift." He frowns. "Do you have work today?"

"Evening shift, too," Josh answers after consulting the calendar on his phone. "Where do you work?"

"Dollar store. Guess what people buy the most of."

"Toilet paper."

"Yes. Where do you work?"

"Book store."

Tyler drops clean, folded clothes in the basket. He refolds a pair of socks. "What books are bought the most?"

Thinking for a moment, Josh says, "James Patterson. Then, there's _Harry Potter_."

Tyler smiles.

They go to Tyler's room together, Josh standing over Ruby and her sleeping form and Tyler putting up his clothes. Drawers shut, the closet opens—each sound is a lull for Josh. He's heavy, a thousand weights on his back. His legs are weak, growing exhausted at even the thought of standing for more than a second past the next. So, Josh sits on the edge of Tyler's bed. Josh is tired, and yet paranoia creeps up and overwhelms him more than the fear of falling asleep standing. Tyler hadn't given Josh express permission to get on his bed. Josh feels sick. "I can sit here?"

"Josh, you can do more than sit on my bed."

Tyler's window is concealed with a blackout curtain. Josh has considered buying one, and never has. This would be a trial run for him, but there are more factors to aid him in falling asleep and enjoying a refreshing night's sleep: he's already exhausted, and Tyler.

Tyler climbs on his bed, doing a quick sweep to remove anything other than bed things from the vicinity. A notebook, pens, snack wrappers, and a bag of M&Ms are sent to the dresser. Tyler hits his hip against something on his way back to the bed. "What was that?" Josh asks, working off his jeans.

"Piano."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I have a massive grand piano over there." Then, "No, it's just a keyboard. Nothing special."

Josh places his jeans on the floor, eyeing Ruby as he does so, despite her sleeping noiselessly. "Will she take these?"

"Maybe."

Josh takes off his shirt, baring his chest and regretting it as soon as he does it. Tyler is wearing a snowsuit compared to Josh's boxer briefs. Josh crawls into bed. Tyler touches his bicep. "Look at you," Tyler whispers, and kisses Josh—a peck, nothing, a proper good-night kiss. Tyler wraps a loose arm around Josh's shoulders, his chest to the length of Josh's back. "I set an alarm for three. Will that be enough time?" The question is vague, drifting between them. Tyler pulls the blanket up, the comforter joining them.

Josh shivers. "It's enough."

*

They wake naturally, bodies tangled together, fingers caught in colorful hair and noses shoved into armpits. Tyler neglected deodorant after his shower yesterday. Today he smells like a haven trapped in a mason jar.

"Good afternoon!" changes to "Can I suck your cock?" in Tyler's vocabulary. Josh's "yes, yes, God, yes" turns into hushed whispers at Tyler's hands, greedy, on his hips, removing any sort of obstacle that is preventing Tyler from getting what he needs and giving Josh what he wants.

The buildup lasts forever. Tyler is controlled, his head bent low as he presses kisses to Josh's abdomen. His teeth touch sides and hip bones, and his tongue claims thighs and groin. Tyler is slow. He nuzzles into leg hair, pubic hair, peppers wet lips to the lines of Josh's stomach. Tyler is beside Josh one second and between his legs the next. Josh accommodates Tyler, spreading his legs with the support of Tyler's palms coaxing him along. "Yeah," he sighs, rising onto his elbows. Tyler looks up at him through his eyelashes, his lips parted and his tongue already out. Tyler is slow. Tyler is so slow. He stares at Josh as he kisses the patch of hair around the base of his cock, closing his eyes briefly to breathe in for a second time. Josh's heart thumps in his chest, and he worries Tyler can hear. Tyler glances at him as if he can hear. He ghosts his tongue up the side of Josh's cock, slow, always slow. Josh falls onto his back, his head hitting a pillow. "Yeah," he sighs again.

Tyler knows what he's doing. He leaves Josh wet from kisses and drool—and it's a good wet, the kind of wet that causes him to groan from listening to Tyler wrap his fist around and jerk him. When he does this, Tyler laughs breathlessly. Amused, pleased, Tyler replaces his fist with his mouth, taking Josh inside until his nose is buried in Josh's pubes. Josh hates it. Josh loves it. Josh cards his fingers through Tyler's hair. They move together, as a unit, Josh's head lolled to the side while he watches Tyler hold down his hips with an arm and bob his head. With a loose grip from the start, Josh decides to let go of Tyler's hair, but grabs it once more after a quick look from Tyler. Tyler pops off, swiping his tongue over his lips. "It's a comfort," he explains, taking hold of Josh's cock and rubbing the tip over his bottom lip. Is it still swollen? Josh wonders. Does this feel good?

Josh closes his eyes.

Tyler laughs, like bells. He lowers himself onto Josh's cock again, swallowing, hollowing out his cheeks. Tyler slurps, spits, _hums_. Tyler hums. It sounds like a song, and Josh will not put it past Tyler if he is thinking of a melody for a song right now. Tyler is playing Josh, and Josh is producing all the right noises. In spite of the arm across his hips, Josh bucks. Luckily this is when Tyler is down at his testicles, kissing everything in sight and giggling at Josh's loss of function. "Yeah?" Tyler asks, and Josh answers in a groan, in his hands dragging down his face, in a shake of his head and not-so-embarrassed laughter. Tyler smiles, bites Josh's thigh, and returns to Josh's cock, sucking and humming on the thing.

Josh's orgasm doesn't take long after that, with Tyler being the way he is. Josh comes in Tyler's mouth and on Tyler's chin and cheek when Tyler is surprised and about to choke. He sits up, a hand to his mouth, as he fights to keep it down, and Josh is sitting up, holding the back of his neck and telling him, "Kiss me." Tyler looks mortified, but he kisses Josh, open-mouthed and shaking. Saliva and semen drip down their chins, Josh experiencing his own struggles to get Tyler clean. Josh tastes himself in Tyler's mouth, on Tyler's tongue, on Tyler's chin as he licks up what clings there. Some of it lands on his leg, though that doesn't bother him. Tyler is blushing, spunk still on his cheek, his hair a mess. "Look at you," Josh says.

Tyler shoves him. "Shut up."

The alarm goes off.

*

Tyler fixes them pancakes for breakfast. They're lopsided and a little soggy from all the syrup, but it's great, and Josh can't stop telling Tyler how amazing he is. It isn't just for the pancakes. There's more, there's a lot more. Josh can't say it, though, so he talks about the pancakes.

Tyler kisses Josh's cheek before he leaves. "I can walk," he told Tyler, and Tyler hugged him and didn't put up a fight.

"I'll text you," Josh says. "See if we can do something this weekend."

"Saturday," Tyler says.

"Saturday." Josh nods. "Got it."

*

Saturday comes and goes. Jim is there, and no Tyler. Josh waits an hour before texting him. He sends, _Where are you?_ Jim lies on Josh's blanket, yawning and twisting to show her belly. _I think Ruby still has my hat_

Tyler doesn't reply. Josh doesn't press the matter. He understands off days.

*

Tyler gets back to him on Tuesday. He apologizes, says nothing else.

Josh sends him, _It's okay_. Then, _You can talk to me Tyler_

_i know_

And now it's Saturday again, and Josh doesn't show up. Tyler texts him, and he doesn't reply until Sunday night.

_you can talk to me, josh._

_I know_

And now it's Saturday again, and nobody shows up, and nobody texts each other.

*

And now it's Thursday, and Josh is out of toilet paper. The dollar store is empty, the sun gone from the sky, the overhead speakers silent, and the shelves in need of restocking. Josh doesn't recognize the cashier upon entry; it's as he's ready to check out that Josh realizes it's Tyler. Tyler hadn't seen Josh come in either. He's perched on a stool, a leg to his chest, dressed in a green vest, scribbling something in a notebook. He and Josh meet eyes, and they each stutter.

"Oh, I-I, damn, I—"

"I, I'm, I-I, oh, God—"

They shut up at the same time. Tyler tries speech next. "Josh, I… I'm sorry. I've been meaning to… to…"

"Same."

Tyler presses his lips together. They're trembling. "I… I can't do this…"

Josh stares at him. "What?"

"Not _this_. I meant… I can't… do this right here, right now. Can we… talk later?" Tyler's eyes are wet.

Josh blinks. His vision is blurry, too. "Sure, yeah. Can you do tomorrow?"

Tyler nods. "Yeah," he says, but no sound comes out. "Yeah," Tyler mouths, and rings up Josh's purchase, handing back change with twitching fingertips. Josh wants to take them and kiss each one. He doesn't. "Have a good night," Tyler says quietly.

Josh grabs the toilet paper. "You, too, Tyler."

*

Josh worries about getting busted, about getting run off from the bleachers. He imagines the police waiting there for him, handcuffs ready, having already stuffed Tyler into the back of their cruiser, arresting them both for crimes they've only thought about. This is what happens when he stays in bed. This is what happens when he doesn't smoke, when he overthinks and overthinks and overthinks.

His backpack is on a shoulder, the hood of his coat pulled over his head. Ruby has his hat. Ruby can keep his hat.

Josh gets here early. It's only ten o'clock. He wants to sit for a while, wants to wallow in his anxiety and make a list of all the good things in his life. Tyler is at the top. Marijuana is number two. The cats are number three. He's brought fish sticks from last night's dinner with him, just in case someone is visiting. The timing is off, though, so Josh doesn't anticipate seeing anyone. He's proven wrong.

Tyler is here, lying on his back, a hand on his chest, striped pillow behind his head, eyes on the undersides of the bleachers. He's been crying, been overthinking himself. Josh spreads out his blanket and lies on top of it. "We don't have to talk," he says, "not straight away."

"Good." Tyler takes a shaky breath. "Good, because… because I…"

"What is it?"

"You can say no."

"What is it?"

Tyler sits, leaning on his elbows. "I have lubricant and condoms in my backpack." He drifts off. Josh knows.

"Go get them."

Tyler's wearing those sweatpants again. Josh has them pulled down Tyler's thighs, his fingers still caught in the waistband as he kisses the backs of Tyler's thighs, the curve of Tyler's bottom. Tyler makes little to no sounds, just affirmative nods and quick shakes of his head. Right now, it's the affirmative nods. Tyler won't shake his head for some time, not while Josh is stroking Tyler's thighs, running his tongue up and over Tyler's hole. Josh moves his hands, grabbing, squeezing, and he opens Tyler with slow licks and deep kisses.

For an obvious reason that isn't obvious to Josh as of now, the lubricant Tyler packed is warming liquid. It kicks in as he's working a finger inside Tyler; Josh gasps, and Tyler moans. "Right there," Tyler whispers.

Josh is used to wet cunts and bed sheets. On this side of things, Josh is used to grass stains and being unable to walk the next day. He's used to blood, to bleeding, to screaming. "Please tell me if I'm hurting you," he says, Tyler moving onto his side, the pillow back beneath his head. He's empty, skin flushed. "Have I hurt you?"

Tyler shakes his head, tugging his hood over his head, the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his palms. "No, I'm okay. Josh, I'm okay." His knees are to his chest, his eyes on Josh, calculating.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You haven't. I'll tell you if you do."

It's cold. Sex isn't supposed to happen here. Josh undoes his jeans, fishing out his cock and wrapping it with a condom. "Are you comfortable?"

Tyler chews on the fabric over his knuckles. "Yes."

More lube than necessary is better than no lube at all. Josh edges closer to Tyler, a hand on his cock and a hand on Tyler's ass. In a slow yet swift motion, Josh is inside Tyler. It's unbelievable. Eyes fluttering shut, Tyler tilts his chin up, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "You're good," he says, and Josh moves, and Tyler says, "You're good," and Josh moves again, and Tyler bites his sleeves and says, "You're so good."

They eventually find a rhythm that's good for the pair of them. Tyler is quieter than what Josh expects, though the assumption is not one that is based on any evidence. Their prior exchanges involved heavy breathing, and when it was reversed, Tyler had been cheerful, edging Josh along with his voice, as well as his tongue. Now it's different, now it's as still as snowfall. Tyler's hand is to his mouth, his eyes never opening, not even at the sounds rolling from Josh's vocal chords. Like Josh being buried in dirt and told to keep quiet, Tyler is keeping down his pleasure, eliciting a soft sigh or clenching around Josh's cock if it gets too much. Josh doesn't know if he should say something, if he should tell Tyler to be louder. They are outside, in a semi-public area, so to be found in a compromising position such as this would be less than ideal. Josh is worried. He rocks his hips against Tyler more than actually thrusting into him. He watches Tyler's face, noting any changes, but Tyler seems to be more at ease than Josh. If Tyler wants him to go faster, then he will, but right now, Josh is satisfied with his forehead to Tyler's shoulder, holding onto a forearm as he sways his hips and sputters under his breath.

But when Tyler does tell him to go faster, Josh is quick to indulge. "Turn me onto my stomach," Tyler says. "You, uh, you might need to… remove more of my clothing…"

It's awkward, but Josh isn't ashamed. Neither is Tyler; he's patient, considerate. Tyler bursts out laughing when Josh fumbles with the laces on his shoes. "Just pull them off," Tyler says.

"I can't just pull them off!"

"Have you tried?"

"I don't want to twist your ankle or something."

In spite of his fears, Josh pulls off Tyler's shoe successfully. He tosses it behind them, Tyler laughing again. "Keep on my sock. It's _freezing_." So, along with keeping Tyler's socks in place, Josh decides to only remove one pant leg. It isn't nearly as constricting or uncomfortable if he were to completely undress Tyler's lower half. This way, Tyler is still somewhat warm. Josh wraps his arm around Tyler's torso, lifting him for a moment, to get situated. Tyler gasps as Josh enters him again, his neck craned toward the blankets beneath them. His fingers, now free from the sleeves of his sweatshirt, grip the corner of the pillow, knuckles white and scrapped in some places, from where his teeth broke through the fabric to touch skin. These scrapes are bloody, not even dried blood either. Tyler gnawed at his skin, releasing everything in the form of gasps and the taste of iron. Josh stares at Tyler's hand, pressing a kiss to the sliver of cheek visible despite the hood pulled over his head. Tyler leans into the kiss. "Okay," he whispers. "I'm ready."

And they're back to where they started: Tyler repeating "you're good, you're good, you're so good" every time Josh moves. Tyler is hot to the touch, feverish and not even letting Josh know. Josh sticks his free hand under Tyler's palm, the one clutching the pillow for dear life. No instruction imperative, Tyler laces his fingers into Josh's, now clutching on to them for dear life. Josh squeezes, and Tyler whimpers, soft, undeserving. "I want to hear you," Josh says. "I want to hear your pretty voice."

It isn't like when Tyler is humming with Josh's cock stuffed in his mouth. No, it's even better.

Josh knows what it's like to get into bed with someone for the first time. He knows what it's like to spend time with yourself and make a few noises and wonder if they were arousing or plain disgusting. He knows what it's like to produce those sounds in front of someone for the first time and receive laughter and mocking in return. On the other hand, Josh also knows what it's like to make those sounds and be completely doted over for the rest of the sexual relationship. Josh understands Tyler's hesitation. Tyler found God in the back of a church after being shaved raw for years. He spent time in greenhouses, with flowers, with insects, and had more time than should be allowed up above the skyline. Tyler has climbed and fucked and kissed people of all genders, and been treated like shit by those very same people. So, when Tyler first parts his lips, a scream escapes. It's not blood-curdling, not the type that Josh has made too many times to remember, but it still brings Josh to a halt. "Tyler?" he asks, wary.

Tyler shakes his head. "I'm fine. Keep going."

"Are you sure?"

"Keep going."

The second sounds Josh hears are whimpers—familiar and predictable. Tyler gnashes his teeth around air and grunts and groans. He sighs, too—helpless things that attract primarily predators. Josh kisses the side of Tyler's face again, feeling the corner of his mouth upturned to a grin. Tyler is smiling, enjoying himself. Giving Josh a kiss back is more work than Tyler wants to put into right now, so he settles for pecking each of Josh's fingers, squeezing Josh's hand afterward. The little things count, and the little things make Josh want to shout.

He doesn't shout because that would scare Tyler. But he does let out a few moans of his own. Tyler joins in on this, getting more secure and more comfortable in his own skin. Their mouths connect while doing this. Tyler drools. He's been drooling for some time. What occurrences happen when Tyler isn't facing Josh.

Josh keeps his eyes on Tyler. "Faster?"

Tyler is mischievous, trapped in a fire. "Faster."

And Josh goes faster, and Tyler moves with him. It shouldn't be working, but it is. They're getting off on their clumsiness and inexperience with consensual sex. Tyler's cheek is to the blanket, his mouth never closing and never wanting to be closed tonight. A harmony comes out of that mouth, highs and lows, long ones and short ones. Tyler begs for Josh throughout it, and never actually specifies what he wants Josh to do. With enough force to break fingers, Tyler holds Josh's hand, pulling it toward him. It offsets Josh's balance for a moment, causing him to mumble "ow". Tyler immediately apologizes, then goes on to bite Josh's arm. These bites are not gentle. They are chaotic and need a thousand apologies to make up for it. And yet, Josh doesn't care. He pins Tyler to the blanket, his hand resting between his shoulder blades. Tyler squeals and sings and moans and groans, and all for Josh. Tyler forgets every word in the English language except for Josh's name. Josh's name is his new prayer. He will fumble to his knees every night and touch palm to palm and whisper "Josh", cry "Josh", scream "Josh", everything is Josh from now on. Josh is in Tyler's blood, and Tyler is in Josh's. Tyler bites at Josh's arm, tearing apart his flesh and suckling on the blood as if he were a bat. Josh is brought back to the neighbor boy, his palm split in two from the gash done by Josh's grandfather's pocketknife. "Together forever," he said, and Tyler is here now. His lips are bleeding from his own torture, dripping onto Josh's arm. The circle turns.

Josh fucks Tyler, and Tyler scrabbles for purchase on blankets, on the pillow. "Josh," he says, and Josh tosses Tyler onto his back. "Josh," Tyler says, and Josh fucks Tyler, and Tyler finds purchase on Josh's shoulders, on his sides, his hips, and he clings like a koala, like a sloth, like Ruby, and arches his back, toes curling within those red socks. "Josh," Tyler says, and Tyler spreads his legs more, and Josh fucks Tyler, and Tyler forgets Josh's name. He's sewn with quiet cries and violent sniffles, semen on his stomach, threatening to soak into his sweatshirt.

"Tyler," Josh says, finishing with a breathless kiss to Tyler's throat. Tyler bends with Josh, limp, a doll. His eyes are closed, his lips red and trembling. He kisses Josh when he's kissed, no matter how weak he is. Tyler slides his hand into Josh's hood, cupping the back of his head, holding him close even after the kiss is over. "Tyler," Josh whispers.

"Josh." Tyler licks his lips, then licks Josh's own. "Will this be one of your stories?"

Josh shakes his head. "No." He kisses Tyler.

Tyler cries.

*

Tyler reveals he's wanted that to happen for far too long. They're walking, hand in hand, grimy from sex. Josh ditches the condom in a bin and cleans Tyler's release with light suction after Tyler made Josh promise he wouldn't blow raspberries on his stomach. Josh did anyway.

Josh had a few napkins in his backpack, which he used to make sure Tyler was okay and clean in other places. Tyler said he was sore, but it was a good kind of sore. "You know what I mean, right?"

Tyler reveals that he had wanted to fuck Josh during their first encounter. "I had the condoms and lube in my bag," he says, "and I was ready to crawl over there and kiss you, fuck you, _anything_ , and then, I watched you feed that cat… and you offered me food, too." Tyler is below sea level at this time, allowing his demons to win. "If it wasn't you, I would have found someone else, somewhere else. I would have done so much more, and I know I wouldn't have liked it. In hindsight, I would probably have died. So… I'm glad I met you, regardless of how things turned out."

"You were that confident that I'd sleep with you?"

"You called me 'fucking beautiful'. I know what I'm about, man."

Josh had walked here, and so had Tyler. They both wanted to think. Funny how things turn out.

So, now they're walking back, hand in hand, grimy from sex. Tyler is swinging their arms, a smile on his face, laughing from time to time. Josh doesn't say anything, just smiles, as well.

It's unspoken—Josh inviting Tyler into his apartment. They're inside before he knows it, and he quickly spits out, "Sorry it's a mess. I haven't had the energy or motivation to clean up."

Midnight on the clock, Tyler and Josh dress down to t-shirts and shorts and clean Josh's apartment. Josh tells Tyler he doesn't need to, that he can go to bed, he must be tired, but Tyler smiles that smile of his, and Josh has no other choice than to let Tyler organize.

"What's in here?" Tyler asks, peering into a bedroom, a garbage bag dragging behind him.

Josh knocks into the dinner table. "Spare bedroom. I keep my drums in there."

Tyler's eyes widen. "Josh, do you know what this means? You have to drop everything you're doing and give me a sick beat."

Their night continues like this: Josh drumming into the morning hours and Tyler singing about whatever he's cleaning. They don't get a noise complaint, and they sleep for twelve hours—when they do go to sleep, that is. Josh's bed isn't nearly as comfortable as Tyler's, but upon waking, Tyler stretches and declares this the softest bed he's ever had the good fortune of sleeping upon. Josh smacks a pillow to his face, and Tyler laughs, and then they're kissing and sliding their bodies against each other, and Tyler takes Josh's cock much better the second time around. They get a noise complaint this time, but this is a small victory, and they will not take it for granted.

*

From Tyler's apartment to Josh's, they never stay in one place for too long. Some nights they pile into Tyler's garage and sink into the beanbags and play loud music as they get high. "I want to show you something," Tyler says one night, and now they're in Tyler's garage, the one place that had been reserved for Tyler's friends. And they moved away, and Josh is the only one here. Tyler's garage is clean, having been cleaned days prior. "We don't have to go back to the high school," he says, unable to move himself from the beanbag. "We can stay here."

Tyler plays his own music mostly. Josh doesn't realize it at first, but after their fourth smoke session in the garage with no car and all the warmth in the world, Josh says, "Is this you singing?" And then, Tyler smiles and says, "I can turn it off," and Josh shakes his head and says, "Don't you dare."

Some nights they hang out at Josh's apartment, crowding on one end of the sofa and watching any film Josh has on his shelves. The movies are bad, and they spend the majority of their time feeling along arms and getting the taste of skin and blood in their mouths. Tyler likes biting, but Josh doesn't need to be a scientist to know that, considering the scabs on his arm from their first time. Josh tries to tell Tyler he doesn't need to bite him every time they kiss. Kissing can be simple, and it can stay simple for minutes—even hours. Tyler is confused. Josh is confused, too. He's companions with teeth and ripping and bleeding. When it comes to gentle kisses and soft palms to the side of his face, Josh needs to remember how to breathe and how to function. Tyler is much the same. An old black-and-white horror film plays on the television as they're stroking each other's necks and kissing lips. When the credits roll, they are still in their respective seating, no arousal present, just the enjoyment of loving and being loved carefully pumping throughout their bodies.

On the nights they're at Josh's, Tyler's brother checks in on Ruby. Ruby can't come to Josh's, Tyler says. "You need to… skunkproof your house."

"I will, if you tell me what to do."

Tyler is quiet for a moment. "It's just easier if my brother stays with her." Tyler knows more about taking care of skunks than Josh, so Josh doesn't question it. He spends these nights beating on his drums and listening to Tyler scream. He's good at screaming. He has to stop after a few minutes, though, for both of their mental healths. It's okay.

If they're not in each other's company, they're at work or texting. Their conversations don't make a lot of sense, and it's miscommunication at best, but they laugh and go to bed happy. If they want to smoke, they set up a time two to three days in advance, in order for Tyler to prepare his garage. He spreads out blankets and fluffs up beanbags and makes hot chocolate. They lie and drink and smoke and talk about their problems. They have a lot of problems. Josh knew he had problems, but it wasn't until he was telling them all to Tyler that he really _knew_. He often represses these memories, only allowing them to pop up in nightmares and intrusive thoughts while under the influence. These memories are horrible, and they leave a bad taste in Josh's mouth. He vomits when this happens. And Tyler, always with his ukulele in his hands, asks, "What can I do?"

And Josh rolls onto his back and says, "Play another song."

And as Tyler strums and sings a lullaby, Josh cries. He cries.

*

His brother tells him they're having a bonfire at the end of the month. "I can pick you up," he says. Josh agrees. He likes the smell of bonfires.

*

Josh likes books. Before working where he is now, he was at a used book store, and while he does still work with used books, an official used book store that only ever sells used books was one of Josh's favorite places to be. Now it's obvious. It wasn't obvious at the time, why he liked working there. Each book store has its own distinct smell, and used book stores had a fragrance Josh will never find anywhere else. He thinks he was moved to a newer store because he was caught with his nose stuffed into books more than his manager would like to admit. He was told he was being relocated because he was a good worker, and the new store needed all the help they could get. But it didn't smell the same, and Josh spent his breaks at the used book store. His old manager politely told him to leave, and now Josh finds solace in new books. He cracks spines on accident and has to hide them in the back of the stacks.

If someone were to ask him if he liked his job, Josh would say yes. And if they were to ask him why, he would say "the smells". Everybody shares the same experience when it comes to books. That's why some refuse to even think about getting one electronically; they'll miss the smell, the flipping of the pages. Josh can say he likes the smell of books here because there are others here exactly like him. Well, maybe not _exactly_ , but it's close, and Josh doesn't feel like a stranger here.

He's stuck behind the counter today, doodling mindlessly on the desk with a pen. The ink never really shows up that well on wood, so he considers it acceptable for him to draw. It's nearing closing time. He's the one who has to get on the intercom and tell everyone they either have an hour or thirty minutes before the doors close. He's only just replaced the phone into its holder three minutes ago, telling the remaining patrons they had fifteen minutes left. Josh tends to do night shifts for this reason: he enjoys the countdown, plus his voice sounds cool as it goes through the store.

Josh is currently drawing a monster with sixteen eyes when a co-worker tells him to help a customer refusing to leave without buying something. "I'm busy," Josh says, because it's a minute before he has to tell everybody they have ten minutes before closing.

" _Josh_."

He counts before leaving. The monster only has fourteen eyes.

No one actually stays until the last minute. They have more sense than that. Time to time, however, Josh has had to direct people to the door and tell them they can come back in the morning. "I'm truly sorry," he's had to say over and over. When his co-workers say this, they don't sound sorry at all. Josh is sorry. He's always sorry. He thinks book stores need to stay open twenty-four hours. The world would be a better place.

"Ten minutes before closing" comes over Josh's head, and he frowns at the lack of emotion and the absence of his voice. He needs to return to his post as soon as possible to make this right, but first…

Josh finds the customer in the fiction aisle, hunched over a shelf with a book in a hand and holding onto the shelf with the other. From here, with their back to Josh, a baseball cap on their head, and a thick black scarf wrapped around the lower half of their face, they don't look too indecisive. Josh begins plotting his co-worker's demise. Everybody knows Josh likes doing the countdown.

"Hi, I'm Josh. Do you need help finding anything?"

It's natural to scowl when he's met with laughter. It's also natural for the assholes to be the ones who stay until the last minute and go as slow as possible at the registers. Josh has "okay then" and "sorry to bother you" on his lips, but they never surface. The laughter continues and morphs into "Hi, Josh. I'm Tyler." Tyler turns on his heel, tugging the scarf from his mouth. It bunches around his neck, sure to keep him warm. To Josh, it makes Tyler look small. "I don't really need help with anything… I mean… Did someone tell you to help me?"

"Yeah, they said you needed help."

"Why?"

"Probably because you're holding a book while still looking at others and there's less than ten minutes before the store closes. They also said you wouldn't leave without buying something."

Tyler slowly nods. "Oh. That makes sense."

Josh chews on his lip. "Do you need help?"

"It's not James Patterson or _Harry Potter_ … and I know you like _Fight Club_." Tyler has that in his hand, the pages a little yellow from how long it's been on the shelf. "But I don't know if I would like the book after watching the movie ten times."

"We didn't watch it ten times."

"Okay, four."

Josh allows that.

Tyler looks up at the shelf, eyes scanning the spines of books, some broken, some in mint condition. He points at one. "Have you read this?" It's _Invisible Monsters Remix_. Tyler curls his finger. "The cover looks cool."

"It's really fucked up."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Tyler gets it. Josh rings him up, taking control of his station once more. He's late. A co-worker is saying "five minutes". Josh frowns, and Tyler smiles, picking at his nails. "So, you get off in five minutes?"

Josh nods, taking his time with giving Tyler his change. Another customer comes to the checkout, sees Josh occupied, and goes to the next register. "Did you work today?"

"Had to open. I just woke up a few minutes ago, actually. Wanted to see you." Tyler seems to be half-asleep, a little dazed, maybe a tad high. Josh knows there's bedhead underneath that baseball cap. "Should I have texted you?"

"No, it's fine." Josh rubs a quarter between his fingers. "Did you want to come over? Or I can come over? Whichever."

Tyler shakes his head. "No." He holds out his palm, watching Josh drop coin after coin into it. He doesn't look angry, just somber. Inviting himself over would just make matters worse, Josh fears. "Have a good night," Tyler says, the correct change rattling in his coat pocket. Before leaving, Tyler pulls the scarf back over his mouth, then up over his nose.

Josh smiles at him. "Cold out there?"

Tyler leans over the counter, kissing Josh through the scarf. "I'm sick. Have a good night."

"You, too, Tyler."

*

Tyler thinks he caught something when a child sneezed on him at the checkout line. Their mom apologized profusely and even squirted an absurd amount of hand sanitizer into Tyler's hands, but Tyler is up late at night with even worse migraines from before and a stuffy nose and occasional sore throat to top it off.

_i'm dying!_

_Tyler, please_

Josh visits unexpectedly on a Tuesday, chicken noodle soup in a thermos. Tyler answers the door, cautiously peeking, a blanket around his shoulders and dragging onto the floor. Josh gives Tyler his biggest smile.

They curl up in Tyler's bed, Tyler slurping the soup, Josh reading to him. They each try their best not to breathe on the other.

*

_what are you doing this weekend?_

_My parents are having this bonfire and my brother said he could drive me_

_?_

_What?_

_??_

_Did you want to come?_

_maybe_

_We're gonna be roasting marshmallows_

_!_

Josh's brother is upset about the change of plans. "We always come in together. Who is this guy? Why does he want to hijack you?"

"He's my friend."

"Right, _friend_. Well, I'll get Mom to let us invite some of our _friends_ over, too."

Tyler drives, Josh giving him directions. Tyler is feeling better, his skin dark and healthy, his tone upbeat as he and Josh sing to whatever is on the radio. The apple cinnamon air freshener is new, filling the car with the scent. Josh bounces in his seat. He needs to build up the happy, the glee, because he sure as hell knows it'll be gone when he sees his family. His family isn't terrible. Compared to Tyler's parents, Josh's were saints. But like Tyler's mom, Josh's parents like to pretend nothing bad had happened to their son. They're good parents, they tell people, and Josh is a good son.

Tyler is wearing Josh's beanie. Josh didn't say anything when he climbed into the car, but now he wishes he had. His parents will recognize the article of clothing and keep their mouths zipped, but his siblings, on the other hand, will not. Tyler looks cute, though, the red color nice against his skin, especially when it's paired with the black scarf and a heavy winter coat. It doesn't look as dingy since the last time Josh had seen it, so he suspects Tyler washed it after Ruby had her fix. If the roles were reversed, Josh wouldn't have washed it. But that's Josh.

His brother is the first to meet Tyler. He shakes his hand, and of course he acknowledges the hat on his head. "That looks very familiar," he says, and glances at Josh out of the corner of his eye.

Josh doesn't say anything, and neither does Tyler.

More than anything else, Josh wants this night to go okay. He wants to eat some s'mores and lean against Tyler and not bicker with his siblings. He wants to show Tyler a good family, a good mother, but that's ruined. Right off the bat, Josh's mom doesn't like Tyler. She's the type of mom everyone likes and who likes everyone, and who always has something nice to say about everyone she meets. That can't be done with Tyler. Why can't that be done with Tyler?

"Oh, you're dreadful," she says as a greeting. "Josh, why do you like bringing home the ones who look like they get exhausted by breathing?"

Tyler tugs the scarf tighter around his neck. Josh frowns. "Mom."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

" _Mom_."

His dad is with his brother and his friends. Meeting Tyler isn't necessary because of that, because of secondhand information. Who knows what they're discussing. Josh feels sick. He sits next to Tyler, an arm around a leg pulled to his chest. Tyler is quiet, has been quiet the whole evening. He hasn't even said anything to Josh, just given him looks, slight smiles, and gentle tugs on his backpack straps. Reassurances, that's what they try to be, but it does nothing to absolve the churning in his stomach.

Josh's sisters take turns tossing twigs and the odd branch into the fire. They're giggling with some girls from school. The wood crackles and burns. Tyler elbows Josh. "Tell me a story."

"My sister burned me with a cigarette once. I did something so stupid I can't even remember what, and she burned me. She said it was an accident. She held it there for four seconds." Josh pushes up his sleeve, showing Tyler his forearm. Apart from the scars left behind from Tyler's teeth, the trace of the cigarette burn is still apparent, even after all these years. Tyler touches it with the tip of his finger, going in a counterclockwise motion. Josh watches his sister stare at them, watches her roll her eyes and shake her head and go back toward the house. They're alone now.

"Tell me more," Tyler says.

"Smoke is supposed to leave your body when you die. It's red, thin, like wisps. The easiest way for it to leave would be through a crack in your skull."

"Tell me more," Tyler says.

"I lost my virginity in my parents' garden. It was to a man I trusted, who my parents trusted. He fucked me and made me eat dirt, and I screamed and screamed, and when he was done with me, I stood on bleeding limbs and saw my mother in the window." Josh is shaking. "I didn't tell her what happened because I thought she knew. She saw me. She must have known. She never said anything. He found me by a wire fence next, and he beat me and broke me until I could still see Venus with my eyes bruised." Tyler heard this once before, under the bleachers, not knowing what to say with a joint between his fingers and looking radiant. Josh didn't share this many details, and he didn't tell him what happened after. He tells him now, shaking more, struggling to breathe. "He choked me and fucked me and told me he would always be there for me. 'I'll never leave you,' he said. 'Don't leave me,' he said. 'Don't tell anyone, don't tell anyone. I'll fucking kill you.' My parents didn't help me. They thought I just got into a fight with some neighborhood kids. I ran away from home and went to the hospital, and they arrested him and he said he would break out of prison and kill me. He died in there. Someone beat his brains in with a broom, and I felt like I could finally be happy again."

Josh is crying. Tyler hugs him, his fingers carding through pink hair as he draws Josh in close, getting tears in that thick scarf of his. The back door opens and closes, people running, people laughing. Josh rubs his eyes raw, and Tyler kisses his cheek and ignores the stares from Josh's brother.

With no appetite for either food or conversation, Josh sits and keeps to himself. Tyler is beside him, never leaving for more than a minute. He chews on a s'more and holds out his thumb, coated with melted chocolate, for Josh to suck. Josh does, cheeks burning.

"Do you have any pets, Tyler?" one of Josh's sisters asks.

"Yeah, I have a skunk. Her name's Ruby."

"That explains the smell," the other sister mumbles.

"She's actually descented, but I, too, enjoy being ignorant." Tyler sticks another marshmallow into the fire. Josh muffles his laughter within the crook of his elbow.

As the night progresses, Josh begins to feel better. He manages to hold down a s'more that was only slightly burnt. Tyler is sheepish as he puts it together for Josh, but Josh smiles and tells him it's exactly how he likes it. Tyler grins and munches on a graham cracker.

As the night progresses, they begin to lose company. Josh's parents disappear, and then it's his sisters and their friends. Josh's brother is still outside around midnight, the fire strong. "Do you want me to put it out?" he asks Josh.

Josh shrugs. "Sure. I was going to show Tyler something."

"Right."

The fire doesn't go out for some time. Josh can smell it, even deep as they are in the woods behind the house. Tyler is close to Josh, stomping on leaves and listening to them crunch. "What did you want to show me?" Tyler asks.

Josh shakes his head. "I don't know."

Behind the house, the woods go on for miles. Josh used to call it a forest when he was a kid. He thought monsters lived in here, scary things that would capture him in the middle of the night and break him into a million pieces. He was scared of the woods as a kid. He didn't want to be carried away and left stranded here with no way back to his parents. His parents were his protectors, and he needed saving. How wrong Josh was to think the monsters were creatures that went bump in the night. How wrong was he to think the monsters couldn't possibly be humans, wearing skin like his, talking with a voice like his, loving with a heart like his. They're deep in the woods, no light in sight, and Josh digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. They're deep in the woods, and when Josh breathes, he can smell smoke from the bonfire. Tyler grabs for Josh's hand. They're deep in the woods, and when Josh turns around, Tyler is there. Tyler says, "Where are we?"

Josh says, "I don't know."

Tyler raises his head, taking a step back as he gazes at the sky and the canopies of leaves still yet to fall, still won't fall. Will they fall? Won't they fall? Tyler squeezes Josh's hand. "You can see the stars."

"How many?"

Tyler pauses. He furrows his brow. "About twenty-one."

Josh shoves Tyler. Tyler hits a tree trunk, softly, with a thud that brings them both to laughter. "They're beautiful," Tyler says, Josh's hands on his chest, tightening around the heavy material of his coat.

"Say that again."

"You're beautiful," Tyler whispers. Josh kisses him.

With enough practice, they've gotten better. They don't pull and bite and suck. They're delicate, fingers catching on clothing and hair and whimpers slipping from chapped lips. Tyler leans against the tree, a sturdy thing, branches low enough to climb and not hurt yourself from falling. Tyler doesn't climb. Tyler loves climbing, but he doesn't climb. He's staring at Josh, eyes dark, cheeks red, as Josh drops to his knees. Josh unbuttons Tyler's jeans, unzips them. No refusal, no pressure, Tyler's cock is in his mouth in no time at all. Fingers in his hair, Josh is wildfire that will not extinguish. The bonfire is burning, and Tyler is sweltering. He is gasping, hissing, and Josh is swallowing him whole. The hair on Tyler's stomach, and even lower, tickle Josh's nose, yet he does not let up. Josh hums and kisses and licks until Tyler is pleading for him again. The begging goes further tonight. He has a reason. "Josh, please, I want, I want you."

Josh wants Tyler. Josh stands, and Tyler fixes himself, if only for a moment, only for anticipation of how long this could take. Josh can see only affection in those eyes. He gives himself to Tyler. They switch places, though Josh faces the tree. Tyler is on his knees, removing his backpack and tossing it aside, undoing Josh's pants. "Tell me if I hurt you," says Tyler.

"You can't hurt me by doing this."

Tyler rubs the back of Josh's thighs, leaning in to pepper wet lips across skin. Josh is cold, but Tyler warms him, tongue focused and measured. Josh has felt the slide of this before, but it was never so willful and attentive. Tyler opens Josh with purpose, with a kind heart and only ever good intentions. When Tyler's tongue leaves him, Josh whimpers, his forehead to the bark of the tree. There is rustling—Tyler opening his backpack. Before there is more rustling, Tyler pulls Josh's hips closer to him, spreading his legs enough to let him feel the saliva as it drips from Tyler's mouth and goes down, down, down. Josh shivers. Tyler kisses Josh's lower back, Josh's hips, his fingers against Josh's hole. They're warm, so warm. Josh grits his teeth. Tyler is inside him, a finger to its knuckle. It's warm, so warm. "Tyler," Josh whispers, and Tyler is standing now, his finger nestled in Josh. Josh kisses Tyler, his hands grabbing at Tyler's shoulders and at that scarf around his neck. "Give me that." Tyler does. Neither comment on how much it clashes against the camouflage of Josh's jacket.

It takes longer for Josh to get used to this. In retrospect, for Tyler, it was easy. It's easy for Tyler even now, three fingers inside Josh. He's back on his knees for this, watching himself work. Josh is holding onto a branch, his knuckles white, rocking on his heels. "Tyler," he says. Tyler knows what that means. Josh is empty a second, and then the next he is full, bursting almost. He's bending forward, Tyler's hands on his waist, his hips quick, rough, unforgiving. Josh hangs onto a branch above his head, daring to stand on tiptoe. "Shit," he murmurs, "right there, right there." Tyler's hand moves up Josh's shirt, touching his stomach, his chest, pressing down on his sternum, on his beating heart. Josh's heart is racing, thirty-two miles a minute. He needs to stop. He doesn't stop. " _Tyler_."

There are oceans in Josh's ears. His ears are like conch shells, telephones for the ocean. He is a wave that's missed the shore. He's weak, like jelly, and Tyler is a toothpick, holding him in place. "Tyler, I, I—"

Tyler moves them, slowly, mindful. "Can you…? Yeah, on your hands and knees. You can… There you go."

Josh feels soil beneath him, staining his jeans over his knees, his palms. Tyler tells him to pull his jacket over them, so he wouldn't get dirty. And Josh does this for a while. Tyler is over him, a hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady as he maintains the pace he achieved prior to their change in position. Josh likes it better like this, on stable ground. He can smell the bonfire, the smoke thick and gray, and then there are the woods—alive with greenery long dead since the start of autumn. This is the earth in its purest form. Josh feels it with his bare hands, scraping the heels of his palms against large roots and tiny twigs. His fingers worm their way inside, deep inside, one with the worms, and he pulls, clinging to dirt, his cheek against the dirt, getting Tyler's scarf dirty. Josh hears the world falling around him, the silence of the woods, the breathing of the woods, the slap of skin against skin, Tyler, no Tyler, no laughter. They always laugh during sex. They're not laughing now. Josh is numb, clawing at the dirt, at the flowers. He's suffocating. He's alive. He wants to stop. He wants to crawl into a grave made of bugs that eat his eyes and his intestines. Josh gasps and moans and tells Tyler he's amazing, he's brilliant, but it comes out wrong. It comes out as whines, as long drawn-out noises that sound as if he's dying. He is dying. He's suffocating. He's suffocating. He's said this all before.

Hands touch his hands, tugging on them until they're above ground. He's on his side, dry leaves in his hair, words caught in his throat. His eyes are open, but he can't see.

"Josh? Are you okay?"

Josh nods. He can hear. "Keep going."

"Did I hurt you? You're bleeding."

"No." Josh closes his eyes. "Keep going."

There's a stick poking at his shoulder. It's finished cutting a line through his cheek and is now ripping a hole in his jacket. Josh snaps it when Tyler thrusts into him. It breaks. Josh breaks. His back arches, and he rolls onto his front again. Tyler grabs at him, an arm wrapping around his waist and returning him to his side. Tyler doesn't want Josh eating dirt. He's not even inside Josh anymore, his cock against the cleft of Josh's ass. "Josh, talk to me. Please. Josh." Tyler is fumbling for his backpack, pulling it toward them. He sits on it, his back to the tree, Josh suffocating in front of him. "Josh, what's wrong?" It's cold, Tyler's breath leaving in great plumes of white smoke. "Josh."

Josh gets on his hands and knees, limbs sore, exhausted. "Nothing's wrong. Tyler, believe me."

"I do," Tyler says. He takes Josh's face in his hands, holding, studying. "Do you still want to do this?"

"Yes." Josh is in Tyler's lap, his back to Tyler's chest, rocking, their eyes shut, almost as if they're trying to go to sleep. They're not sleeping. They're not trying to sleep. All of Josh's weight is on Tyler's thighs. Josh bounces. Tyler helps. Josh can't say Tyler's name, or else Tyler will worry and stop. Josh doesn't want Tyler to stop. Tyler doesn't stop. He comes with Josh safe in his lap, hugging him, his lips pressed to a kiss on Josh's shoulder. "Touch me, please," Josh says, dead flowers in his hair. If this were anyone else, if they were anywhere else, Josh would have been thrown to his stomach, would have screamed, would have been forgotten, but this is Tyler, and Tyler is _Tyler_. Tyler touches Josh, his fist hot and quick on Josh's cock. Tyler touches Josh, and Josh's orgasm brings tears. He clenches around Tyler's cock, still buried inside him, and he swears a tooth chips from how hard he gnashes them together. He sighs and tastes blood, tastes the night air, tastes smoke from a bonfire put out an hour ago. "Tyler," he says, and Tyler is there, his hand on Josh's cock, his hand damp from semen.

"Josh." Tyler sniffs. "Oh, Josh…"

"Tell me a story," Josh says.

"I will, I will." Tyler cleans them up first, easing out of Josh and tying off the condom. He helps Josh stand, has him lean against the tree, as he opens his backpack and pulls out a squashed roll of toilet paper and a plastic bag from the dollar store. Josh grabs for it, and vomits. Tyler sings a quiet lullaby while he cleans Josh of lube, sweat, tears, vomit, blood, and sin. Josh is shaking. Tyler holds him, brushing the debris from his hair. "I love you," he says. "Do you still want to hear a story?" Josh nods, his arms tight around Tyler's torso, his nose pressed to the curve of Tyler's neck. He smells like marshmallows and body odor.

Under about twenty-one stars, Tyler tells Josh a story about a car, a torch, and a death.

*

"I think I'm going to text my brother," Josh says, spotting his brother's car sitting in the driveway. "Tell him I'm going home." Tyler is quiet behind Josh, staring at the ground, clutching his backpack straps. He kicks at rocks and cracked leaves. "I'm sorry for dragging you out here." Tyler shakes his head. "We could have… stayed in, watched—"

" _Fight Club_ , again? No. I had fun, Josh."

"I was going to say _Donnie Darko_."

Tyler smiles.

With the back porch light on, Josh knows someone in the house is awake. They hadn't bothered to check the time before they left the woods. They hadn't bothered to do much of anything other than run to get out of the woods. Tyler suggested they race, and Josh leapt at that opportunity. He tripped on tree roots and smacked his palms against fallen logs and flew and flew. Tyler laughed behind him, echoing, following, happy. Maybe they had woken someone. Josh wouldn't put it past them. He isn't good at being subtle, even worse so as a kid. He was awful with noise, too loud, too frustrating. Josh's breath is coming out too fast and too hard. He can't catch up with it. He sees a frame outlined in the back porch light. It isn't a halo. It isn't an angel. It's his mom.

"I'm leaving," Josh says. He means to walk past, but she is looking at him, and he's seen that look before. Josh stops at the steps, his hands in his pockets, attempting to hide his face in Tyler's scarf. More than a little disheveled, with scrapes across his cheeks and a hole in his jacket, Josh is homely. He's been through a woodcutter. Josh grounds the toe of his shoe into the grass, eyes narrowed as he stares at his mother. He's waiting for her to say something. She has something on the tip of her tongue. From Tyler to Josh, from one rumpled person to another, it wouldn't take long to decipher what happened in the woods. And yet, she won't say it. She avoids the topic like it's the plague. Josh wants her to say it. He wants her to say _anything_.

She doesn't say anything. She stares, glowers, arms crossed over her chest. In a thin robe, she needs to be inside and in bed—not out here, not glaring at her son. It's after midnight; Josh knows that and only that. This is no time for standing outside and glaring. Please go inside, please go inside.

"Have you been fighting again?"

"No."

"Are you going to vanish again?"

"Is that what you'd like to happen?"

She shrugs. Josh shivers. Tyler touches the crook of his elbow. "I had a lovely time."

Her scowls go to Tyler now. Josh repeats, "I'm leaving," and doesn't look back.

Tyler turns up the heat in his car, pulling a blanket from the trunk and handing it to Josh. Josh removes his shoes and bundles into a tight ball in the passenger seat, his attention directed to the window. He attempts to count the street lamps they pass, but can't make it further than three before he is forced to start over. Josh tugs Tyler's scarf up, encasing his mouth and nose, breathing in until the fabric is flesh against him, like a plastic bag. Tyler pitches their plastic bag in a gas station, vomit and used condom and all. He leans against the car door as he pumps his gas, watching Josh through the window. Josh twists a thread from the blanket around his finger, pulling until the skin turns blue.

"Do you want to spend the night with me?" Tyler says, fastening his seatbelt and starting the car.

Josh closes his eyes.

Tyler tries again. "My brother is with Ruby. We can go to your place."

Josh unwinds the thread from his finger. "I want to go home and sleep."

"Do you want me there?"

That three-letter word rolls in his head, over and over, over and over. It traps in Josh's windpipe, inflates. Josh hides his face in his knees. "Just… drive. Please. I don't want to think."

So, Tyler drives, and they drive by Josh's apartment and keep going. They drive until it's more morning than night, and then they drive some more. Tyler says nothing, and Josh thinks of nothing.

Tyler drops Josh off when it's a quarter after three. Josh folds the blanket. He slides out of the car and walks over to Tyler's side, shivering again, pressing his cheek to the frame of the window once Tyler fully rolls it down. Tyler's fingers are doing a shiver of their own along the steering wheel. Both hands are on the wheel, at the ten and two position. Tyler stares at Josh. Josh stares at Tyler. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

With twitching fingers, Tyler grasps his scarf, gently pulling it. He leans in, kissing Josh then, and Josh kisses Tyler, touching the car door. Josh has to be on tiptoe to properly kiss Tyler. He doesn't know how to properly kiss Tyler.

"Sleep tight," Tyler says, as a goodbye.

"You, too, Tyler."

They part with each other's traces upon them—Tyler with Josh's hat and Josh's fright, and Josh with Tyler's scarf and Tyler's heart.

*

_Hello_

_hi!!! wow we're actually talking when we said we'd talk_

_Yeah_

_so what's up_

_We shouldn't have done that yesterday. I haven't felt the same_

_poison ivy?_

_God no, I hope not_

_do you regret it?_

_I just feel really bad_

_don't. please._

_I'll try_

_would it help you feel better if i told you i wasn't feeling great about what we did yesterday either?_

_Yes_

_well i'm not feeling great about what we did yesterday either_

_Small world_

_so what do we do?_

_Facetime me_

Tyler does, and he's damp from a shower, hair clean and face shaved. His skin looks clear, aside from a few spots on his cheek; those are quickly overlooked. Tyler isn't too bothered by it. He holds his phone too close to his face at the start of the call, but when Josh laughs, Tyler returns his phone to a more appropriate placement. "What's up, dude?" Tyler asks. "You're lucky I was done with my… with my wash." He sniffs, scratching his nose. "I can totally see your collarbone freckles from here."

Josh, however, is not occupied at all. He's spent the day in bed, with layer upon layer of blankets and enough pillows to die for. "Sing me a song."

"Gimme a minute." Tyler sets his phone somewhere, the view now of his ceiling. A fan spins in the corner of the screen. Josh watches, gets dizzy, and watches some more. Tyler reappears within five minutes, positioning his phone just so Josh can clearly see him, his ukulele, and Ruby, chilling on the bed. Josh's beanie is underneath her. It's cute. Josh smiles. Tyler strums his ukulele. "Any specific song?"

"No." Josh props his phone against a pillow and draws the blanket tighter around his body.

Tyler sings.

*

Tyler says they don't have to try again. "Only if you're ready." Tyler is fixing them spaghetti at this time, putting some spare meatballs aside to give to the cats later. They don't know when exactly later is, as they haven't been back to the high school in weeks. Josh worries about the safety of the cats, especially Jim and Johnny Boy. Josh had been up the night before, cradling Tyler to his chest, thinking about them. And today, Tyler is wearing the clothes he slept in and using Josh's kitchen to make them dinner. Tyler tries to talk to Josh while he cooks. Josh's part of the conversation is minimal. He watches Tyler cook.

"It's okay, you know… What happened to us is… It happens to more than we think. We're okay. We're not broken." Tyler stirs the pot of noodles. "A _little_ broken, maybe."

Josh likes the sound of that.

A knock on the door brings Josh out of it. It isn't exactly a knock, but it's close enough to be called one. It's more scraping than a pound of a fist. Tyler glances at Josh for a second. "What is it?"

More knocking. A greeting—teeny, tiny.

Tyler furrows his brow. "Josh? What is it?" He looks over his shoulder, smiles, can't stop smiling at Josh and their two friends in his arms, one orange and one black. "Will they be having their supper to go or here, then?"

Jim hops onto the counter. Johnny Boy twirls through Tyler's legs once she's set on her feet. Josh kisses Tyler's shoulder. "Here. Always here."

*

Josh sleeps with two cats now. He listens to Tyler sing and play his ukulele, sometimes his piano. One night, when he's on the verge of sleep, Tyler stops playing and mumbles something under his breath. Finding Josh asleep on the other end of the phone is nothing new. Josh keeps his eyes closed. Tyler sighs, cracking his knuckles, and mumbles that something again. Josh hears it.

"I love you," Tyler whispers. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

*

Josh runs to Tyler. Tyler is on the front step of his apartment, tending to a flower next to a lawn chair. The pot itself is cracked, held together with old glue and duct tape. The flower is dying, or has recently been brought back from the brink of death. Tyler is patting down potting soil, not realizing Josh is upon him until he is crouched on Tyler's right. "Hey," Tyler says, not the least bit surprised.

"I love you, too," Josh says. If this were a movie, they would kiss and fireworks would go off in the distance. It would be loud, and Josh can already smell the smoke.

But this isn't a movie, and he is with Tyler. And Tyler laughs, eyes bright. "Cool."

And then, they kiss. It isn't like a movie. It's better.

Tyler goes back to the flower, peeling off the dead bits, tossing them into a pile steadily growing. "Do you want to… start a band?" He brushes soil from his hands, away from a faint scar along a palm, almost as if it had been slashed open by a pocketknife.

Josh grins. "Yeah."

"Good." Tyler spins the pot, admiring the plant from all angles. "First, though… do you want to smoke a little?"

"How could I refuse?"

So, Tyler takes Josh's hand and leads him into his apartment, into his garage, and they spread out blankets and slouch in beanbags and listen to loud music as they get high.


End file.
